


Regret

by dirtyclaws



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Depression, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, mercy might have depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyclaws/pseuds/dirtyclaws
Summary: Mercy has a lot of regrets. This one was trusting Jack.





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what to call this

The years had changed Jack. He was still stubborn and duty bound, as he'd always been. He had a soft spot for those in need. But years of looking out for himself and dodging the law had changed him, made him more ruthless and less hopeful. He had told Angela that she would just he doing research and running basic tasks, not involved with combat anymore at all. Overseeing sick patients, monitoring medication stores, making sure that those with chronic illnesses received their meds. Simple things outside of her prior duty as combat medic.

Jack had lied.

As soon as she arrived back at Watchpoint Gibraltar, she was assigned back as combat medic. Caring for those with gunshot wounds and missing limbs directly off the field. Changing at least twice a day due to the blood and bile constantly staining her clothes and writing letters to families who would never see their loved ones again. She couldn't just quit and leave Overwatch without a head medic, either. They needed her to lead and direct, and she could never leave her patients.

Jack had lied.

Some people made it easier. Reinhardt and Lena. Lena had launched herself into the doctor’s arms, chattering away about how much she missed Angela before Rein swept them up into his arms. Some made it worse still.

Obviously, Jack. But Ana was an unexpected one. Every time Angela looked at her, all she could see was young Fareeha.

_The report shined bright and blue, illuminating the tears in Angela's eyes. Ana Amari, reported dead along with the rest of her squad. The door flew open and small Fareeha burst in, burying her head in Angela's white lab coat and clutching her in a tight hug. Fareeha looked up, tears tracks over bright red cheeks._

__

__

_“I'm so sorry,” Angela whispered, abandoning the holopad and wrapping her arms around the young girl. “I'm so, so sorry.”_

Believing Jack had led her to this point, sitting behind a desk and filling out a casualty report. The door opened and Angela paused, lifting her pen up midstroke. In walked Jack and Ana, and Angela set down her pen. Something told her she wasn't going to get back to her paperwork for a bit.

Ana sat on the corner of Angela’s desk, surprisingly casual. Especially for an office visit. Jack stood in front, his hands forced still by his sides. It was a forced casual. Angela narrowed her eyes slightly, considering taking painkillers so they could prevent the headache she would no doubt have by the time these two left.

After several seconds Jack shifted awkwardly, his hands drifting to his stomach and starting to toy with the fabric of his clothes. He’d always had that nervous tick, even when he tried to force himself to keep it away. Jack cleared his throat and began speaking. “Angela-”

“Doctor Ziegler.” Angela wasn’t going to pretend to be his friend after this. After the weeks of shit she’d been through, he didn’t deserve it. Not to mention thinking he was dead for years.

For a moment Jack looked crestfallen. His hands stilled before gaining their movement back. “Doctor Ziegler. I trust that you have been assimilating back into Overwatch well? Is everything in the lab to your liking?”

“Yes, it is.” Angela didn’t plan on entertaining him or Ana longer than necessary. She forced herself to pick her pen back up and continue writing, her hand tense. She could barely choke down the tide of insults and fury she wanted to rain on both of them. Jack for lying, Ana for leaving her to think that her best friend was dead all these years, and both of them for sitting in her office.

Jack reached toward her. “Angela, please-”

Angela slammed her hand down on the desk. The pen cracked and ink spilled everywhere, staining the plastic surface and Angela’s hand. Mentally, she berated herself. Fifteen seconds in to a conversation and already she couldn’t hold her temper? She had to be better than this. She reached into her desk for a pack of wipes and started wiping down her hands and the desk.

“Not now, Jack. Just not now.” Angela didn’t look up until the door swung close, focusing on scrubbing the ink away. After tossing everything in the garbage she looked at Ana, who was still perched on the corner of her desk.

Ana ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I know you’re angry with us. We should have told you… everything, really. About us being alive, and about what you’d actually be doing at Overwatch now.”

“Yes, you should have.” Angela picked up a new pen from her desk and started on her charts again, still not looking up.

Ana spoke to her again, ducking down in the doctor’s line of sight. “We are helping the world, Angela. That is what we all want, even if the world insists on letting itself die. Duty binds us to protect it as best we can.”

There were several long seconds of silence. After a few moments, Angela realized that she couldn't write her notes. Her hand was shaking too badly. She paused, took a deep breath, and tried to resume writing again. The ink on her pen blotted before she could lift it up again, and she set it to the side in defeat.

Ana reached out, touching the back of Angela's hand with her one gloved one. Almost without thinking Angela yanked it back, curling it in towards her stomach protectively. She pressed her chin to her chest, looking down as she curled up in her desk chair. Her coat smelled like antiseptic and blood. Even in her most instinctive acts, she could not escape it.

_Blood spreads across the sheets rapidly as Fareeha desperately, weakly, presses a cloth to her stomach. Ana, ever steadfast, is pale and nearly shaking, helping her bleeding daughter stay alive until the medicine kicks in. Angela shouts instructions to help Lena, bright white bone sticking out of the small woman's thigh. Angela helps her onto the bed as smoothly as possible, but her bone hits the side and Lena can't stop the brief, shrill scream that escapes. Tears run thick tracks down her face and she bites her knuckles so hard they bleed. Harsh sobs and yells escape as Angela desperately works to repair the tissue before it's useless._

Even in a new coat, even after days of no injuries, that is all she can smell. Blood and antiseptic. Sometimes, it is all she is.

Angela slowly extends her hand back to Ana, breathing shakily but deeply regardless. Ana takes it, gently stroking Angela's fingers. “Someday, it will be over. Blood will not be our epilogue.” A wry smile crossed Ana's face. “Perhaps someday you can restore my eye.”

Angela let a small huff of laughter escape. It shouldn’t be funny, but it is. She pressed her face to the back of Ana's hand, letting the loose strands of her hair fall forward and mask the tears that flash in her eyes. After a few more deep, steadying breaths she pulled back up, releasing Ana's hand and picking her pen back up. “I should finish out these charts. No matter how far medicine advances, we'll always have useless paperwork.”

Ana let out her own huff of laughter. She pulled her hand up, cupping Angela's cheek affectionately. “Later, my friend. I have paperwork of my own to do.” Ana pulled herself off the desk, straightening her clothes and heading away.

Angela turned back to her notes and began writing rapidly again. Emily Vanderbough. Twenty-five. Released from active duty due to loss of a limb. Jonathon Cross. Nineteen. Killed in action.

The list was neverending.

**Author's Note:**

> no beta reads we die like men


End file.
